


All Is Fair Behind Closed Doors

by aliciutza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arya is sleek but she ain't fooling no one lmao, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, F/F, I guess I only write crackfics now, I think this qualifies as sexy but a bit angsty sowwy, Masturbation, Pining, Sansa is a soft bitch confirmed, Unrequited Love, a girl can dream, background jonerys because i am trying to follow canon here in case you didnt notice, ice queen and fire queen, listen this is complete crack, oh and I take years to find a title smh so lmk if you get the reference, season 8 promo, so dont @ me if you dont like them kthxbye, the Daensa we deserve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 01:12:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17633252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliciutza/pseuds/aliciutza
Summary: Only fire made flesh could ever melt the Ice Queen's heart. Sometimes the heart wants what it wants - a Daensa fic.





	All Is Fair Behind Closed Doors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheScarletGarden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheScarletGarden/gifts).



> From the softest of the bitches, to an even softer bitch, happy birthday, my dear Scarlet! I know, I am a day late - I blame this on my inability to plan ahead and on my shit work week! I know we joked about it - but when I promise a crack fic, I deliver a crackfic, bish. This fic is obviously all in good fun. And let's be real, I am totally here for Daensa. 
> 
> The Season 8 promo inspired this fic, along with the influx of Daensa gif sets, and this poem (check it out in the end notes) about the Ice Queen and the Fire Queen. Oh lord, I am such a sucker for Unrequited Love, or is ittttt hmmm. 
> 
> A big thank you to [atetheredmind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atetheredmind/pseuds/atetheredmind) because I basically made her beta for me bahahah she thought I would give her something else instead of Daensa, as if I would write anything besides Jonerys <3 love you girl, you're amazing!
> 
> Smooches to my dear friends, who enable my nonsense - wuv you <3 
> 
> Moodboard by me.

 

It started innocently enough, or so she gathered, she had barely had any time to rejoice in her brother's return, for Stark men coming back from the South in anything else than a wooden chest was as rare as lemons growing at the Wall. He pulled back, smiling as he had the day they reunited at Castle Black, slightly older, hair slightly longer. Something flickered in his eyes, making him appear different, yet in which manner, Sansa couldn't say.

 

He had turned with his entire body, motioning the person likely responsible for that unascertainable change Jon had gone through; he said something more, but his words got drowned in the sound of the snow crunching under her footsteps. So enthralled was she by her beauty, that her mind fogged up, rendering her speechless. Her throat constricted, her heartbeat so loud she was sure the entire court could hear it, and the only thing she could do, was force a smile and greet her with the expected “Winterfell is yours, Your Grace.” The Queen hadn't said much, and she had felt too exposed for her comfort; she couldn’t show weakness – she squared her shoulders, standing her ground. After all, this wasn't the first queen she had come face to face with in her short life.

 

It may have been a spell, for now that she was in the safety of her chambers, finally alone to mull over the encounter, she couldn’t explain her reaction. For the first time since taking back her childhood home, all those moons ago, her mind drifted to her rose. She still remembered the day Littlefinger brought the news of her demise at the hands of the woman who had already taken too much from her, how she had hysterically sobbed well into the darkest hours of the dawn, how she had begged the old gods and the new to take her too, for surely there was naught to live for. The pain subsided, reduced to embers, ready to be ignited at the gentlest of stokes. It had been the Queen's clever quip at Tyrion's words, the way she commanded the room without even trying, which had reminded Sansa of her beloved. For despite time being as unforgiving as ever, barely being aware of its passing, yet the pain of losing Margaery had never felt so fresh.

 

She drew the bolt to her chambers’ door, wobbling to the bed to get ready for the night. She had closed herself up from the world – no one was allowed in her heart anymore, apart from her advisors and family – a shell of what she once was; yet, if forced to choose, she wouldn’t go back to her old self – she had been but a fool, thinking love would come in the form of a prince in shiny armour, when it finally came in the form of delicate hands, softly curling brown hair and large eyes of the same colour.  Sansa sighed, letting her dress fall on the bed. She sat in front of the looking glass, her mother’s comb in her hand, ready to unravel her hair from her plait.

 

_ Ice Queen _ – it’s what the servants had called her, she had overheard one complaining just the morning of her brother’s arrival. She had been livid – how dare they call her cold hearted? The Lady of Winterfell needed to be strong, there was no other way of surviving the Long Night. If she was the Ice Queen, what did that make Arya? Still, her sister seemed to be more respected than she was, maybe because of her short temper and intolerance for treason against their brother, or maybe it was just that, unlike Sansa, her sister always carried her sword.

 

During the day, she had retreated into herself, offered the Queen no more than what she asked, observing and learning, as even the simplest words were a chore to form in her presence.  _ Gods, she was that same stupid girl from whence King Robert visited Winterfell _ .

 

At the very first council meeting, right before Bran had made the shocking revelation of her brother’s true parentage, she had looked a fool, being caught staring at the Queen by Lord Tyrion. Against her own will, she blushed, which had prompted an eyebrow raise and a pointed look from him. She moved her chair further away from the hearth, praying that Tyrion believed her poor attempt of an excuse. Moving had given her an even better view of the Queen, no longer directly opposite her, so she could silently study her profile.

 

For the first part of the council, she only listened to what the others had to say about her army’s movements and how they fared so far in the harsh weather. Her jaw tensed for a fleeting moment, although why, Sansa couldn’t know, she was barely paying any attention to what was being said. There was this tendon that tensed again when she cringed at something Tyrion had said – she wanted to taste it, dig her teeth into it and wait: would she moan or hiss? She shook her head, chasing the treacherous thoughts away; she would be condemning herself to a life of sorrow, were she to even entertain such feelings. From her vantagepoint, she could see but a hint of the violet of the Queen’s eyes that reminded her of the twilight sky in King’s Landing. Her eyes travelled down the curve of her small nose, to her full lips, her chin, rolling off her jawline, next to her ear. The crimson silk ascot covered most of her neck, and she couldn’t help but wonder –  _ did the column of her neck look as soft as her cheeks, or was it even softer?  _ The Queen suddenly turned, catching her red handed – with a slightly approving nod, she smiled and turned her attention back to Jorah Mormont.

 

As she was about to recount to the council Littlefinger’s demise and trial, and other events since Jon had left, Samwell – Jon’s brother from Castle Black – and Bran burst into the solar. The revelation of their father’s biggest secret sucked the air out of the chamber; nothing happened – she scanned the faces around her, they varied from shock, to relief, happiness and concern. Jon looked up from Bran to the Queen – all the while, she kept staring at him, eyes glossy, lips slightly parted, her breath coming out laboured. Slender fingers wrapped around her heart, squeezing it –  _ they were in love _ . Jon breathed out an “Out!” and everyone, but the Queen, scurried out of her father’s solar; the thump of the bolt sliding against the door echoed in the empty hall.

 

It changed things, of course it had, for the North and for the wars to come. Tyrion had caught up to her, begging her to keep this a secret until they had survived the Long Night; no one outside the small council and the Starks was to know the truth. “If they are intelligent enough, they will wed soon. The gods know how much I had to endure on board that ship,” he mumbled as he retreated to his chambers.

 

She didn’t wait for the confirmation – she ordered the Queen’s belongings to her mother’s chambers, and had Jon’s moved there too. Queens needed husbands and heirs, none of which she could provide.

 

She moved to the available chambers closer to be bridge leading to the armoury, but still in the Great Keep, where warmth from the hot springs permeated the walls. The second council was held in the early morning hours – she took her place at the furthest place from where the Queen sat, glancing anywhere but at her as she spoke. It was futile, for she had studied her so much the day before that she was certain she could draw her from memory. She left the solar as soon as the council ended, wishing she could avoid both her brother and the Queen. He caught up to her, all broody and sad, thinking that she no longer wanted him as her brother. “Don’t be daft, you’ll always be my brother,” she assured him, yet her words came out clipped, forced. His scowl deepened, so she was forced to explain, “I approve, you clearly love each other. I just hope you’re aware why the other lords can’t know about this.” He relented, albeit not entirely convinced by her words.

 

The rest of her day had kept her away from her family and the Queen’s entourage. She would have skipped supper, had Brienne not suggested she take it in her chambers, since she seemed  _ unwell _ . She tossed and turned, images of moonlight hair and ghost kisses clouding her mind, dissolving the boundary between dream and reality, where wish became flesh, and flesh made her wish for more. Sansa didn’t know when she succumbed to sleep.

 

It didn't surprise her when Arya came bursting into her chambers, well before the crack of dawn; her sister had always refused to observe even the smallest of courtesies – it didn't matter that she was still in her shift, hair uncombed and half asleep. What had surprised her had been her request:

 

"We are changing chambers tonight."

 

Before she even had time to open her mouth to ask why or just outright deny the request, Arya had already left.

 

She caught up with her only in the Great Hall, where Jon and the Queen, along with her party, were breaking their fast. She curtsied, wishing them good morning, then took her place next to Arya, despite her brother raising a brow at the peculiar choice of seat

 

"When you came back, you begged me to give you the chambers closest mother's, and now you wish to move?"

 

Arya continued eating, paying her no mind. It was childish, and highly inappropriate for the Lady of the keep to do such things, yet she was desperate – Arya yelped at her pinch. She turned, shock and a barely contained smile on her face, "'tis what I said, isn't it?"

 

She sighed, "Yet you're giving me no reason."

 

"Strategy; it is not wise for the Lady of Winterfell to be sleeping so close to the bridge, you’re at risk,” she said, taking a swing of her ale, “You would be safer closer to the Queen and Jon.”

 

Sansa was touched – still not used to her sister showing her affection. “Oh,” she faltered, but quickly recovered, “I will make the arrangements.” She ate as much as she could, too aware of the Queen watching her from the dais. She felt warm, not because of the ale she had tasted under Arya’s questioning gaze, nor because of the warmth radiating from the fire. She dared a quick glance – the Queen held her gaze – her smile igniting her even further.

 

The night found her in a different bed, having taken Arya’s advice to heart. She had retreated later than usual, telling herself she was occupied, despite knowing the reason she delayed frequenting the same area as the Queen.

 

She was already drifting in and out of sleep when she heard it first – the faintest moan. She thought she was imagining things, after all, her dreams had been plagued by a certain Fire Queen the night before. She turned on her side, convinced it had been but a figment of her troubled mind. There it was again, this time deeper and louder.  _ It couldn’t be – could it?  _ The next moan answered her silent question.

 

Sansa gulped, all sleep left her body, leaving her aware of any and all noises. She shivered on the next throaty moan, sweat breaking in between her thighs. She craved to be touched, by  _ her _ , here, there, everywhere. She was hot – too hot, and just this once, she let herself be set on fire. All rational thoughts left her, pleasuring herself the only purpose.

 

Her left hand commenced a tortuous trail from above her knee up her thigh, bunching her shift in its wake; she imagined the Queen’s soft pale hands instead of her own. Her breath hitched as she passed over the hip, to her mound, over her bellybutton, until she reached her breast. She twisted the hard peak between her thumb and forefinger, her next moan synchronising with the Queen’s. It was the sweetest torture, and she whispered “more”.

 

She followed the same path down, stopping at her mound this time, gently caressing it; she slid two fingers between her lower lips, molten heat emanating from her slick core. She let herself be dictated by the rhythm her Queen’s moans commanded, not even feeling that the hand pleasuring her was her own. Her nub was pulsing, begging her for release, but she needed to drag this out for as long as her Queen wanted. Her wetness was permeating the sheets as she pumped the two fingers in an out of her channel, barely conscious enough of how loud she was being. By the increased frequency of the moans, the Queen was as close to the edge as she was. She was grinding against her hand, flames licking at her skin, and when her Queen screamed, she let go.

 

Spent, she rolled on her back, panting, still riding the wave of her pleasure. She messily pulled the furs over her breasts and fell asleep, dreaming of a world where the Fire Queen would come atop her Dragon to save the Ice Queen and show her unconditional love in perpetuity.

**Author's Note:**

> "They say the Fire Queen is touched by ice.  
> That her hair is like snow,  
> and that she has a cold look.  
> But her smile counts a different story.  
> It's like fire, like madness in her heart.  
> She is the queen they follow into war. 
> 
> They say the Ice Queen is kissed by fire.  
> That her hair is like flames,  
> and that she has a warm smile.  
> But her eyes count a different story.  
> They're like ice, like wildness in her veins.  
> She is the queen they go to war for."
> 
>  
> 
> [Source](https://hericeandfire.wordpress.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> Did you enjoy it? Lemme know! Oh and this is the first time I wrote canon era, who knows, I may write other canon fics in the future! Jonerys, ofc ;) 
> 
> Until the next time,  
> Alice


End file.
